


Peach Tea Latte

by Anonymous



Category: AB6IX (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-01 12:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Barista Woojin has a crush on a regular customer and tries everything other than talking to him





	Peach Tea Latte

The boy arrives on Saturday afternoons, more often than not. His order varies around the cheapest options the café offers - black usually, milky and sweet if his mood needs a lift. His name is Jeon Something and he studies Music. These are the things Woojin knows about him for certain.

There are a few other things he knows, but only in a personal kind of way. Like how Jeon Something's laugh makes squirrels dance in Woojin's belly. Like how he looks precious - whether in shorts and flip-flops in the summer, or swaddled in big jumpers and scarves now winter's setting in. (Like how Woojin thinks Jeon Something would look great in Woojin's uni sweatshirt). Like how sometimes, when he spaces out, staring out the window, the fading Sun illuminates his fine nose and cheekbones as if the sky itself were saying, "Yes, this boy is the prettiest boy." 

"If you don't have the balls to talk to him, at least don't be so creepy about staring." 

"I was not staring," Woojin growls. Jihoon just rolls his eyes. He's leaning on the end of the wooden counter, chatting with Woojin while he works. Jihoon has a cushy part-time job on campus that involves him sitting in a spacious office for a few hours a week, doing menial admin work. Woojin suspects his best friend comes to see him at the café in part for the curiosity of seeing up close a person perform manual labour.

"If you're really not willing to talk, you could at least ask his full name." 

"You could at least pay for your cookies," Woojin snaps. Jihoon brushes a raspberry and white chocolate crumb from the corner of his lips.

"Pardon, did you say something? No, I don't believe you did." He stands up straighter then, resting his palms on the counter like he's about to say something of great import. "Honestly, when are you going to talk to him? Because I want to be here to instagram it." 

"Can't talk. Customer," Woojin informs Jihoon over his shoulder, moving to stand poised by the till. There is no customer. There is no one within 5 foot of the ordering point. Jihoon humphs and goes back to rifling the magazine rack.

In his defense, Woojin would have to say that Jihoon is putting a negative spin on Woojin's sincere efforts at courtship. He doesn't _just_ stare and pine after Jeon Something and his angelic nose and mochi cheeks. He also writes messages on his cup. Not _what's your number?_, because that would be too direct, and also scary. And also, were it to go wrong, the beautiful boy might say Woojin was harassing him. No, Woojin keeps it unproblematically perky.

_Have a nice day :-) _

_I hope you have a perfect day (*≧▽≦) _

_ur smile makes someone smile too :-p_

Woojin would hand him his drink without a superfluous word. Then keep half an eye on his table to see if the message made him smile. Often it did. Often Jeon Something didn't even notice. He just set his drink down and sipped at it as he studied, oblivious to Woojin's heartfelt need to tell him how pretty he is.

His coworker, Youngmin, pushed him to take it to a higher level of suave. Im Youngmin, although he looks like a dopey alpaca, bumbling his way through life, actually raps and makes music. In his spare time he can frequently be found hunched in his room, quilt around his shoulders, expensive headphones on, scribbling lyrics into an ever-growing collection of notebooks.

It happened this way. On rare occasion, Jeon Something comes into the cafe during the week. (On those days he usually adds a slice of cake to his order. He likes the matcha mille feuilles, but leans towards the strawberry chiffon cake. Not that Woojin's noticed or anything). That particular time, he came in with a friend - a tall, skinny guy, with a 10000 watt smile, floppy black hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder. Specifically he came in with this new person's arm around his neck, them laughing together about who knows what. Taken by surprise, Woojin failed to be the one to take their order, failed to utter a single syllable to them after he'd mixed their drinks and arranged everything on a tray, and failed to hide from Youngmin how frequently he was peeping at their table.

"I can't believe you're still pining," Youngmin commented while transferring notes to the till.

"I'm not," Woojin grunted, washing the blender with excessive vigor.

"I wish you weren't. It doesn't suit you." Youngmin finished his task - because somehow he counts money at least 10 times faster than normal brained plebs like Woojin - and turned to him. "What did you write this time?"

Woojin lingered, suddenly very interested in washing the parfait spoon exactly right.There was, he mused, no way to escape from this without embarrassment.

"I said 'the Sun came out just now'." 

"That's it?" 

"With a smilie Sun," Woojin explained impatiently. How would he not add a smilie Sun? It wouldn't make any sense otherwise.

"But it's evening," Youngmin pointed out, brow creased. And really, Woojin thought, for the hyung with a poetic soul, Youngmin was being awfully dense.

"It's not that! It's... Because he came in. And he's smiling. So it's like the Sun. The sun came out!" 

A businessman sitting at the counter eyeballed him from over his newspaper and Woojin realised that perhaps he'd lost control of his volume button for a moment. He took a deep breath.

"I get it, it's cute," Youngmin placated, "But he won't get it. Maybe if you'd ever talked to him he would, but..." He trailed off, letting the message sink in. With a tsk, Woojin thrust his hands back into the basin full of washing up.

He did take Youngmin's point. He'd heard it often enough anyway, that he needed to up and talk to the cute boy rather than expect him to know through telepathy that Woojin wants to put flowers in his hair and kiss his forehead. However, given this evening's developments, it didn't seem terribly appropriate. Laughter (fricking _cute_ laughter) reached him and the masochist in him compelled him to glance over. It wasn't just an arm around the shoulders anymore. They were practically spooning, the obnoxiously long guitarist leaning back on Jeon Something, his legs sticking out causing a fire hazard. Jeon something's eyes were crinkled up with mirth, his pale cheeks rosy with two deep dimples that Woojin would give the world to poke, even if just once. The whole scene was gross (-ly adorable), disgusting (-ly envious is how Woojin was feeling).

"Looking at it," he started, wiping his hands on his apron and letting the water drain out, "Shouldn't I give up, move on?" He was trying to sound cool headed and logical, but Youngmin just looked at him like he were talking Greek, "I mean, look. He's clearly got a boyfriend." He watched Youngmin look over, observe the squiffiness going on at that table, and with a straight face say, 

"That's not his boyfriend." 

"Yes," Woojin deadpanned, "They are exhibiting highly platonic behaviour there."

"Some people are just like that," Youngmin shrugged, fidgeting with his apron tie, "Anyway, he's definitely not your guy's boyfriend." 

Woojin stared a moment at his coworker. He peeked back - thinking mayhaps his imagination genuinely hated him enough to have conjured a hallucination. But no, there they were, still spooning. And Lofty Guitarist was looking back at him. Woojin's heart quickened. But actually, not him. He was gazing past Woojin to the curly-haired loser nearby. He dropped his gaze and returned his attention to whatever mellifluous remarks were spilling from Jeon Something's pink lips. When Woojin looked back at Youngmin, the man was undeniably blushing.

"What do you know?" Woojin demanded.

"A lot of things," Youngmin countered, "But this isn't about me. It's about getting you a guy. Here, take this." 

He reached into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a slim, dog-eared book. There was a detail of some luscious Pre-Raphaelite woman on the cover and the words 'Modern Love: love poetry of the 20th century'. Woojin took it, squinting at the painting of the white woman with mounds of red hair.

"You read this?" 

"Yeah." 

"You read this?" he asked again, scattering question marks liberally throughout.

"Yes. Why?" Youngmin's shoulders came up a little, defensively.

"Was this what you were reading during your break?"

"Why else would I have this on me?" 

"So you are actually reading it?" 

Youngmin scraped a hand through his hair, dumbfounded.

"What did you think I was doing with it?" 

"I don't know," Woojin admitted, scratching his chin, "I guess I thought you just had it for the aesthetic." 

Youngmin groaned. He took Woojin's free hand and held it to the book.

"Just take it. I'm not saying you should compose a sonnet on his coffee cup. But maybe it'll give you some ideas. Something better than 'the Sun randomly came out even though it's 8 on a pissy evening'." 

Woojin frowned.

"Thanks, I guess," he muttered, pocketing the book.

And that is the part Jihoon doesn't know about. Because it's humiliating. But Woojin did take Youngmin's advice and start researching, start dropping a line of carefully constructed lyrics, a snippet of heartfelt verse on to the side of Jeon Something's cup. 

_A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath... There we two, content. _

_Why did I let my eyes so rest on you, and hold my breath between? _

_I never saw so sweet a face as that I stood before, My heart has left its dwelling place and can return no more. _

They do make him smile, too. It's awesome. Jeon Something even looks over a couple of times and their eyes briefly meet.

("This is the part where you shoot your shot and finally talk to him," Youngmin unhelpfully interjects into Woojin's demented grinning and chuckling to himself. To which he glares and claims to be biding his time until the moment is right. They both know this translates to 'I'm a coward, shut up').

Woojin figures he has to keep it up then, when he sees it having an effect. He locates the library and raides their poetry section. When it becomes apparent he doesn't have it in him to get _in_ to poetry, he turns to his favourite songs, picking out fitting phrases and switching the gender as necessary.

_Like slow motion, like the world stopped, we slowly became one. _

_It's only you, I see you every (Satur)day but my heart flutters._

Jeon Something's smiles give Woojin confidence. He can feel the courage gathering in his chest, brewing like a storm. The next time, he's certain - the next time Jeon Something comes in, he's going to ask him 'bee tee dubs, what's your given name?', and then Jeon [pretty given name] will tell him and Woojin will say something witty and lightly flirtatious, and he'll fall for Woojin's charms, and they'll get married and have three dogs and a budgerigar called Paolito. And Youngmin and his guitarist will sit way at the back during the wedding because fuck them for being tall, frankly.

The very same day Woojin comes to this momentous decision, he overhears Jeon Something and Kim Guitarist Bozo chatting while he's clearing a table.

"Why doesn't yours have one?" 

"Hard to say... Maybe it's, like, one random lyric per order."

"Right... Is it - do all the baristas do it or is it just that one?" 

"Why are you asking me?" Guitarist Bozo laughs, "You should ask him." 

"I guess." And Woojin's heart sinks. Because he knows that tone. It's the same tone he uses when Hyungseob or Jihoon suggest to him perfectly valid and usable methods of sparking up a conversation with the Love Of His Life. That is to say, Jeon Something has no intention of approaching him. After a pause, he adds, "It must be café-wide, huh? I mean, wouldn't it be kind of odd if it were just that one barista?" 

Guitarist Bozo makes a non-committal sound and they go back to other topics. When Woojin trudges back behind the counter, his heart is a grey, ashen wreck.

His mood fails to lift throughout that week. All his previous efforts feel unimportant and he doesn't know how he ought to go on. His crush doesn't even show up that Saturday, the one thing Woojin had been relying on to smash the grey clouds with his glorious little fists.

On Sunday, Woojin gets lunch at his aunt's house. Happily, his aunt's stew is pretty good at dispersing a few of the grey clouds. So much so that, after lunch, when he's sitting in his cousin's room trying to let the kid beat him at least once at this new game he's got (but Daehwi is really inexplicably awful at all games), Woojin asks, 

"Oi. You know how I said there was this one hottie?" 

"Sure, your hottie," Daehwi calmly replies whilst frenziedly smashing keys.

"Yeah, well, I sort of want some advice." 

Daehwi unlocks his avatar's ability to commit harakiri. He pouts at the screen then chucks his controller to the bottom of the bed.

"Fine," he says, folding his arms and sitting back, "Tell me your woes." 

Woojin attempts to do just that without sounding quite as pathetic as he feels. Daehwi, frustrating pipsqueak that he is, has an EQ far in excess of Woojin's. Woojin reasons that some teasing from his cousin isn't so much of a price to pay if he can wrangle some solid advice out of him.

"I know what you need to do," Daehwi declares after a couple of minutes of Woojin whinging, clasping his hands together, a fire burning in his eyes, "Personalise it. What Youngminnie-hyung said was good. Like, yeah, poetry, pretty, yadda yadda. But it doesn't suit you. What do you want to tell him?" 

"That he's pretty?" Woojin blurts out. Daehwi gives him a scornful look.

"Well, _obviously_. Refine your search terms, please," he instructs with a role of his thin wrists. Woojin purses his lips, staring into space for a long moment.

"I want to squish his fucking cheeks." 

"Good! Which ones?" 

"Both? No wait, shut up! You're a child." 

Daehwi laughs in his face. But he gives him advice - advice which he promises will get the pretty boy's attention better.

That's why, the following Saturday, Woojin pens this on the side of Jeon Something's ristretto,

_Hey, tie ur shoes or u might just fall for me _

_(ゝω´･)b⌒☆_

That line gets him a wholeass giggle. When he's sure no one's watching, Woojin silently nae-naes in triumph.

_Are u from Tennessee? Because ur the only 10 I see _

_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)>⌐■-■_

Now, it could be pointed out, some of his puns get him a confused stare at the cup followed by belated laughter. But Woojin will have you know that still counts. His confidence is rushing back, swelling inside him. He's all set to ask. He swears he is. The next time. He's fully ready, knows what he's going to say and everything. When one Thursday evening, Youngmin rushes into the staff room and grabs Woojin just as he's pulling off his work shirt, to put on his regular t-shirt and hoodie and leave. His shift just ended whereas Youngmin has another couple of hours to go.

"Yah! Don't leave yet. Jeon Woong just came in and he's all sad. Go be a gentleman or something," he blabbers.

"Who's Jeon W-... No! What? How long have you known his name?!" 

"A while," Youngmin drags a hand down his face, "I didn't tell you because I thought you would have gotten the balls to ask by now." As Woojin continues to only stare, half naked, in offended silence, Youngmin growls, "That's not what's important. I told you - he's sad. Go stop him being sad." 

That stirs Woojin into action. Like hell is Jeon Som- _Woong_ allowed to be sad, not on Woojin's watch. He yanks on his work shirt again and marches back out, shirt untucked over his black slacks and name pin fully forgotten.

Woong is standing at the unmanned counter looking bewildered. He's sniffling, but that might just be from the cold weather. His eyes are red rimmed, and that's certainly not the weather's doing.

"Good evening, Mister Jeon. What can I get you?" 

He orders a large peach tea latte with sprinkles and a slice of banoffie pie. Woojin concludes that, whatever's wrong, it must be serious. Which is a problem. He doesn't have any poems for a situation such as this. Nor can he think of any lyrics or snatches of the poetry he's read that aren't along the lines of 'let me hug you forever'. That seems all sorts of too forward when, technically speaking, he hasn't mustered the courage to ask Woong his name yet. Woojin's panicking. He's frozen, marker primed, cup in hand. He makes big eyes at Youngmin, who's handling the next customer already. When Youngmin notices Woojin standing stock-still in his distress, he whines,

"I don't know! Just follow your heart and let it tell you what to write." 

"Is that honest to fuck your advice?" 

"Yes?" Youngmin squeaks, then huffs his fringe out of his eyes in thought. "Yes, it is. Do it, coward." 

Woojin does. His heart tells him to draw a picture. Woojin can't draw, so he's not sure he should be listening to this instinct. Nonetheless, he manages a pretty cute caricature of Woong - round face, dimples, pretty eye-smile, straight hair tufting out about his ears, and a big wool scarf like the last time he came in. He includes an akanbe-ing sunflower to get his point across.

Woong doesn't look up when he collects his drink, so Woojin doesn't have the opportunity to say anything stupid. Shift over, he tarries behind the counter, tucking in his shirt and getting in Youngmin and Sihun's (who just started his shift) way. He just needs to make sure Woong smiles. He tells himself that, should Woong not notice Woojin's artistic efforts within another two minutes, he'll go over to say hi.

It doesn't take two minutes. Woong drops into a seat. He spends a while staring at his lap where his fingers peek out of the hoodie sleeves. Next, he turns his cup around on the table to see what's written, having gotten to enjoy the weird messages this café puts on its cups. He blinks in confusion. Then he bursts into tears. The more he tries to hold it back, the more he's wracked by sobs. He sniffs and sniffs, scrubbing his eyes harshly to try to dam this embarrassingly public display. But nothing seems to help. 

Behind the counter, Woojin is petrified.

"What did you write?" Youngmin hisses, frantic. He's only fractionally less useless with crying people than Woojin is.

"I drew a flower! I drew a pretty flower!" Woojin defends himself, flapping his arms about in horror. Sihun jabs him in the ribs.

"Go fix this, whatever you did." 

So he does. He strides the first few steps. But then he remembers he doesn't have a plan and his steps peter out into a timid scuffle.

"Er, hello." Woojin sees his posture stiffen. The palms held to his eyes stay there. Woojin clears his throat - all this achieves is making him feel even more awkward- and takes the empty seat across from the crying boy. "You okay?" 

Woong sniffs and dabs at his eyes again. The shock of someone approaching him has lessened his sobs, but they haven't gone away, still shaking him from the core.

"Sorry, I'm causing a scene, I suppose. Sorry, I'll go wash my face or whatever." 

He makes to leave, and Woojin grasps his wrist, tugging him back into his seat before he'd even stood.

"No! It's not about that!" A beat. As blood rushes to his face, Woojin consciously adjusts his pitch to something a tad less manic, "I mean you're not, don't worry," he mutters, "And if you were, I'm off shift so it's not my business to care if someone's making a scene. Not that you are. Because you're not. But hey, you didn't say." 

Woong goggles, lost for words, cheeks wet from crying. (And what Woojin wouldn't give to reach the minute distance between them and dry his tears. However, first he needs to tackle the current dilemma of how this beautiful boy appears a mite terrified of him).

"What?" Woong all but whispers.

"Are you okay?" Woojin explains, beginning to go dizzy from an insufficient blood flow to his brain, "You haven't said yet." 

"Oh!" Woong ruffles his blond hair, slaps his cheeks as if to wake himself up from a daze. "Yes, I'm fine. Really." A sob shudders out. Another tear pools on his long eyelashes. "M - mostly." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Woojin mumbles, nervously pulling at his shirt so much it comes untucked again. "You don't have to or anything. But I just finished work, like I said, and I've got nothing much to do. Talk my ear off if it'll make you feel better."

It's a lie that he has nothing to do. Off the top of his head, he can come up with three college things and five housekeeping things that he really needs to get to. All of them, however, are trumped by the sunshiny pretty boy needing a hug.

"Do you mind?" Woong checks, shy voice, sweater-clad fists on the tabletop on either side of his drink. Woojin reassures him it's fine and Woong continues, "Well, you see... You see, my dog died."

Woojin gasps. On Instinct, he covers Woong's hand with his. When he realises what he's just done, words of comfort get clogged in his gullet. He can't back out though. So he leaves his hands there, a thumb caressing Woong's knuckles through the threadbare fabric. For all Woojin's turmoil, Woong shows no sign of having noticed the gesture. "It happened a couple of days ago, actually. She passed away in her sleep - old age. She lives - _lived_ with my parents, so Dad rang me with the news. But I had projects and stuff to do. I guess I didn't process it. Only I... Like, I handed some things in today and a little while ago it just - It really hit me. She was the best lady."

He's crying again. Softer now, head bowed and stray tears silently streaking his face. Woojin doesn't know what to do, so he keeps holding his hand.

"What was her name?" he asks, squeezing Woong's fingers to encourage him to look up. He does and, with a sniffle and an incredibly fond smile, replies, 

"Knoblet. It was because she had this one weird curl of hair on her head. So we called her Knobby Knoblet of the Manor."

Woojin is dumbstruck. That is so completely stupid. He loves it. He loves this boy. He's going to marry this boy.

"She sounds like a sweet girl," he murmurs, "Do you have any pictures?" 

Like any good dog-person, the teary boy needs no further prompting to whip out his phone and show Woojin dozens of shots of his arthritic dog gurning at her family members, gurning at other dogs in the park, gurning at a large, gold-painted reclining Buddha... Woojin scoots his chair closer to see, leaning over the table, breathing in the scent of coffee and peaches and Woong and trying not to get overly distracted. When Woong gets to scrolling through a folder that consist only of Knoblet side-eyeing pigeons, Woojin at last attempts that thing his friends have been telling him to do for months.

"So you... you study music, right? What's that like?" 

"It's good. It's a lot of work but I like it. And my roommate, Donghyun, is in the same course, so that helps. Although our majors are different." 

Woojin chews his lip.

"Is Donghyun the friend you come in here with sometimes? I, er... I just noticed him because of the guitar, that's all." 

Woong snorts. Ne'er has a snort moved Woojin so.

"You can say he's loud and obnoxious, it's fine. Yeah, that's Donghyun ... I assumed you'd know, to be honest. You know, what with his and Youngmin-hyung's thing." 

Woojin did not know and he is blueprinting detailed plans to wring Youngmin's lengthy neck.

"Oh yeah, sure," he shrugs, "Come to think of it, what is your major?" 

"Vocals," Woong answers, paying little attention while he searches through the Knoblet memes folder.

"Oh, you should sing for me someday."

It takes Woojin a moment to accept that he just said those words out loud. Into reality. Into the real space that he is occupying beside his maximum double-plus crush. It takes another moment for him to recognise that Woong is grinning at him.

"Maybe you should invite me to noraebang sometime." 

"Maybe I will," Woojin croaks. Woong laughs and points his phone at him for Woojin to show due appreciation to a video of his dog set to a Nicki Minaj song.

When Woojin recovers his powers of speech, they chat for another while. He discovers that Woong lives with Donghyun and another boy in a flat on the same street as the café; whether he prefers sweet or salty; that he had told his parents he was applying to engineering courses when he was going around researching music schools. In turn, Woong asks him about the life of a Performing Arts major (frequent drama - in class, out of class, and often for no discernible reason); dorm life and how to manage living with eight other students; and seems honestly interested in Woojin's pointless anecdotes about his work life. Woojin feels himself falling once again. This time it's not for a boy like an idol, to be admired from afar. This time it's a boy who laughs aloud and cries silently, and rambles about his dog and his annoying roommates; who smells faintly of kimchi fried rice, and who stress eats when he's had too much at college.

"Do you know, there's a dog café near-ish here?" Woojin speaks up, expression stiff from the sheer force of will it's taking him not to stutter or bite his lip nervously. "I say 'near', you have to take the MRT two stops, but then it's right there. Would you - would you maybe like to go? If you think Knoblet wouldn't mind, we could go this Saturday?" 

Woong claps his hands together. (Woojin's desire to hug him - already pretty high - skyrockets).

"I don't think she'd mind. I think she'd like her people to meet some good doggies. How about I give you my number? Er, tell me yours and I'll call you." 

As Woong is keying in his number - saving it as 'Park Woojin ☕🌻🔥' - Woojin peers behind. Youngmin and Sihun are there, ogling, an arm around each other's shoulders and soppy grins on their faces. Woojin mouths something unrepeatable at them for having shamelessly been eavesdropping. (Woong peeks up at him and, with an impolitely kissable pout says, "Make sure to save my number too. You have to text me, right?"). Woojin thinks how, after he's finished wringing Youngmin's neck, he might just buy his coworker a hugeass slice of chocolate fudge cake, just for being him.


End file.
